And Life Goes On
by mountaindew
Summary: A girl suffering from...everything. She lives with her hated brother and alcoholic abusive dad. her mother died giving birth to her brother.Can she ever forgive him?how could she survive? What is the solution to this unending nightmare...maybe...bloodshe


_Life Goes On_

_Beep…beep._

I groan.

_Beep…beep._

I reluctantly roll over to the side and slam my fist on the alarm clock until the incessant noise stopped. It was just another day within the long, dreary school year. I sluggishly crawl out from the bed and stumble to the mirror. I took one look in the mirror—Gosh I look horrible. Corduroy lines from the spiral notebook had pressed against my face. My black hair (With red highlights!) was an absolute, unmanageable mess. It then occurred to me that I had fallen asleep while writing in my journal. I walked over to the bed and searched the blankets until my fingers felt its sleek surface. I pulled it out and opened to about the middle of the book, where it simply read:

Jake would not get out of my face! He's such a brat! I wish he would just get out of my life…

I then recall my Jake, my little brother, who had barged into my room every five seconds, making kissing sounds and taunting me every five seconds. But before I could mentally tell-off Jake, I looked at the time and winced. School. The thought made me groan. I quickly walked back to the bathroom and ignored how I looked while I fixed my hair.

After making my hair decent and dressing in a pair of black jeans and blouse topped off with a black hooded jacket, which covered my wrist- crisscrossed with scars- (Black is so mysterious!), I trudge downstairs into the kitchen where I saw my dad and brother sitting at the table. Jake is jumping off the walls, being a hyperactive nuisance. My dad is reading the newspaper, doing nothing to stop him. I took a bagel from the counter and placed it into the toaster.

"Why are _you_ so excited?" I ask him, not wanting to know his answer.

"School!" He answers excitingly as he jumps. "School! Yeah!"

"Whatever, loser," I mutter under my breath.

"Jade!" My father scolds. "You know what I said about name calling. Apologize to your brother this instant!"

"Sorry," I said nonchalantly.

_CRASH!_ Jake had swung his arm into my mom's favorite vase. Its cream-colored pieces now shattered across the floor. Tears stung my eyes as memories flash through my mind. My dad slams down the paper and begins to holler at Jake. Jake screams frightened by my dad's sudden action. "It was Jade's fault! I promise!" I bend down to pick up one of the pieces that had hit my foot. Its flowery design was now cracked in multiple places. And just as luck would have it, my toasted bagel pops out, and just as quickly I rush out of the chaotic house and towards my car. I couldn't stand another minute in there.

Unfortunately, the next scorching fire was the school. Stacy, my former friend, comes up and insults me in her usual greeting: "Oh, it's a rock. I wonder what's it doing here?" Stacy gave me the nickname because my name is a gemstone. I usually try to ignore her abuses but it always stings. It would take all of my will power to contain the tears that threatened to cascade down my cheeks. My private life was already awful; Stacy certainly wasn't making _me_ feel any better. I abruptly turn without saying a word and walk away in defeat. The _last_thing I would want is for her to see me in this state of weakness. I sigh. I knew from the moment I met her that we were _meant_ to be friends.

As I was driving home, I began to reminisce about my first encounter with Stacy. It was in kindergarten. I was on the colorful ABC rug in a puddle of tears. My mom had died that year while giving birth to Jake, and my dad would come home every night and beat me for no apparent reason. I didn't understand until years later that he was drunk, but at the time, I thought I was doing something wrong.

"_Hi, my name is Stacy. What's yours?" A voice broke my train of thought. I looked up and saw a blurry image of a girl. I tried to blink my tears away, and I would have been successful if I hadn't seen a mother hugging their children and letting them walk inside the school. I ended up bursting into tears once more. Watching their joy made me miserable. _

"_Why are you crying?" She asked with intense curiosity, kneeling down beside me. _

"_Mommy's gone!" I blurted out. The pain was too much. I wanted her to leave me alone, but instead, she replied, "Me neither."_

_Almost instantly, I stopped crying and stared at her. "What?" I asked in disbelief._

"_My mommy's gone, too." She was quiet a moment. "So is my daddy."_

"_Why?" _

_Her face became sad as she spoke. "A bad guy took their stuff and killed them." I was speechless._

"_Hey, do you want to play House?" She asked, changing the subject. I envied her ability to live happily without parents. _

"_Okay," I answered, sniffling._

_Stacy stood up. "Oh wait, you didn't tell me your name yet."_

_I smiled softly. "Jade."_

This was the beginning of our friendship. We stayed friends ever since, sharing so many things from then. She helped me through hard times and showed me how to cope with my mother's death, and in-turn I did the same for her. But then 9th grade came, and everything changed. She began to shift into a more popular group of friends and scattered my secrets—the ones I kept locked away in steel walls—into the public. Stacy and I argued over what seemed like forever, and soon, our friendship ended.

I no longer tell anyone my secrets.

I isolate myself from others now. I am a ghost, expressionless and invisible. Darkness fills my heart and a coffin locks it in its pain. I am a heartless being who wanders this world, living in a fog where no one can find me.

I'm lost, but no one will ever find me because of this darn fog.

"I'm home," I yell as soon as I walk through the front door. I try to run upstairs before anyone can catch me.

But I lost. "Hey, tomorrow I can't take Jake to school so you do it, okay?" It was my dad, who slowly came up from behind me.

I whine. "Aw, Dad, why?" I stop in the middle of the stairs and turn around, only to be met by a hard slap across my cheek with my dad's rough, dry hand. In his other hand was a can of beer. The taste of blood started to linger in my mouth.

"Because I said so." He trudges back downstairs and into the living room, where he disappeared from my sight. I silently turn back and stalk up the stairs into my room.

After I lock my door, I reach behind my drawer to retrieve my only friend. I am awed by its familiarity as it glitters in the sunlight. Beautiful. Simply_beautiful_. I sit on my bed, my back against the wall. I close my eyes, ready for the ride, and I draw the blade down my wrist. Am I alive? The sharp pain flashes through my arm, and the sensation tingles my skin. Bright, crimson blood catches the sun and trickles down the side of my arm, leaving trails of pure hatred and desolation. Relief fills my body.

I do this regularly to check whether I am still human or just dead weight. I look beyond my fresh slit to see old scars, healing wounds, and fresh meat. Quickly, I take a towel and soak up the blood. The wound was deep. It'll definitely be a scar.

I welcome the familiar, stinging, burning pain. It comforts me as I take out my homework. Ever since the life changing argument, I began to cut myself. It pulls me out of the thick fog I reside in. I watch the life I can only control through slits and pieces. Often times I would sink into a deep depression that would murder all my hopes and reasons to live. It cuts everything inside and leaves me with an empty shell. If I cry, my salty tears will be lost in the sea of misery and despair. How lovely.

I stay in my room until dinner, which was a loud and obstreperous one. When my father had beaten me for not eating a single bit on the table, I struggled my way back to my room and went to sleep.

"Wake up, Jay Jay!" A childish voice yells in my ear. "Wake up! Wake up!" His yelling became louder and louder. "Wake up! Wake up!! I'm going to be late for school!" My eyes shoot open and I look at the clock. Oh snap! I forgot to set my alarm last night. I cursed myself while I got dressed and rushed out of the door without breakfast. Jake and I will be late, and it's entirely my fault.

Jake follows me and gets into the front seat of my old Mercedes. I turn on my favorite radio station as we back out from the garage.

"Sweet!" I yell as my favorite song came on. I began to sing along.

When I was halfway there to drop off Jake, he unbuckles his seatbelt to lean over and change the station. "Gross," he says with a look of pure disgust, fingering through the channels. "I can't believe you listen to this crap!"

"Hey!" I knock his hand away from the radio. "Don't touch anything!" Being the burden that he always was, Jake began to press every button that he could see in front of him.

"Try and stop me!" He hollers. The radio station tuned to a channel with the song _Low _by Flo Rida, and Jake started to yell the words of the song, causing me to try to push him away from the gadgets and yell at him to stay quiet. Nothing in my power could stop this little devil from shutting up.

Jake suddenly screams. "Jade!" The noise and the pounding of the radio are driving me crazy! And then I realize the amount of regret I would get as his final words ring clearly:

"LOOK OUT!!"

Jake lets out a blood-curdling scream with horror deep in his eyes. I turn to focus my eyes on the road, frightened by the sharp alertness in his voice. And then it happened so quickly that I don't think I had the time to blink. It is an oncoming speeding car and I am right in the middle of its path, trying to make a turn. I am frozen with fear staring-trapped like a deer in headlights. I pound on the brakes and make a hard left, but its too late. There is an eerie crunch of metal as the oncoming car slams into the side of my car. The impact sharply jerks me forward. The seatbelt digs into my shoulder, which holds me and restrains me from flying through the windshield. Pain was tearing through my arm. When, to my surprise, the car finally stopped tumbling, I crawl out of the car, heaving from the sudden event. I survey the heavy damage.

There are minor cuts and bruises on my arms and legs though the touch of my arm is gone. I think it is broken. The car is mutilated beyond recognition - a wreckage of scrapped metal. My mind was busy with calculating how much my dad would react learning about the destruction of his car, but then I saw something that made the world stop spinning.

Jake.

Twenty feet from the wreckage, unconscious in a pool of blood, was the 8-year-old boy who has tormented me my whole life. I knelt down before him, unsure of what to do with my hands. White spots swim in my vision. All I could do was stare. The other driver had been pinned in his car and was shrieking at the deformed, mangled body that is my brother, yet all I could hear was the loud, rapid thumping in my ear. I felt as if my heart would burst out of my chest. Ice gripped my heart, and it was never going to let go.

I straighten myself up and reach out to hold him, to pull him into the safe vicinity of my arms. "Jake?" I ask, almost a whisper. My voice sounds deep and raspy, a voice that didn't belong to me. "Jake?" I ask again trying to at least get a response from him as I gently lift him up. His body was limp and his head lolled to the side. Blood was staining my clothes but at the moment it did not matter, because all that did was Jake. He is unnaturally pale. I called his name again.

And again.

And again.

My tears rain down on his face. NO! This is all my fault. Everything seems so distant and unreal and I hear someone cry out in agony and realize it was me. I hold onto him tighter-to never let go. The paramedics soon arrive and I'm screaming at them to try and help Jake, so now they're shooting him with electricity, but…deep down, I knew he was gone.

Forever.

Tears flow relentlessly down my cheeks while sitting in the back of the ambulance, gripping onto Jake's hand.

Jake was rushed into the emergency room. A nurse leads me the opposite way into the examination room. I find out I have a broken arm and some bruised ribs. I barely wince as she cleans my wounds. All bandaged up, I walk to the lobby and wait for the news of Jake's condition. I wait in the lobby for my dad to come. Hours of waiting in the hospital brought excruciating pain and regret. My dad comes into the lobby and talks with the doctors to see Jake's condition. I sit outside in the lobby, trying hard not to hyperventilate. I doubt I could handle the news of Jake's condition especially when it was my fault. My dad walks slowly back to me with a face of stone. I swallowed a needle. He takes a glimpse at me before sitting beside me, and I realize he's crying. I had a sickening feeling in my stomach.

"Jake's dead," he chokes up.

"No," I said. "NO!" I shake my head, not wanting to believe. This news pushes me over the edge and I breakdown. Violent tremors shake my body. It can't be true. I try to get up and run, to escape from reality, but my legs go limp and instead, I fall. My dad catches me, and whispers the same words he said when my mom died.

"It'll be okay."

That night as I lay in bed, the scene of the car accident replay continually in my mind. If only I wasn't so blind! I would have seen the car coming and Jake wouldn't be... I couldn't bring myself to accept the news. Today, I realize the true ugliness of reality. I let the silent tears flow down my cheeks, as I couldn't hold them any longer. I cried for my mother, for my dad, and finally for Jake.

Days went by, dad's drinking got heavier and we got in more violent arguments. I guess that was the way he copes with tragedy. In school, I am a shadow, barely surviving in the blinding light. I avert everyone's sorrow gaze, and when people give me their condolences, I just walk away. I don't want to hear whatever nonsense they'll give me. I don't want their sympathy. They could never understand the pain and guilt I was experiencing. It was my fault.

Eventually, I snap. I can't take it anymore. One night, after another argument with my dad, I run upstairs and slam the door, falling onto my bed. I half-expect Jake to stick his head in my room and make kissing sounds. Something hard was under my pillow, and when I felt what was underneath, my eyes widened. My journal! All this time! All of those long, dreary days I suffered without writing a single thing in my journal. I opened the notebook to find the words that sound so foreign to me:

Jake would not get out of my face! He's such a brat! I wish he would just get out of my life…

I sit up on my bed, rocking back and forth in a fetal position, trying to comfort myself within the darkness. It seemed like years ago when I wrote that; so far away. I got what I wanted and regret it. "It was all my fault," I keep telling myself. A cloud of guilt and depression hover over me. I burst into tears. Slowly, piece-by-piece, I am falling apart. I squeeze harder, trying to hold myself together. Why do I have to deal with this pain and misery? I walk over to my vanity and trip over something in the darkness and hit my head. Pain shoots through my body. My head is throbbing. I reach up to touch the sore and feel a sticky substance, dripping down my face. I look in the mirror. I barely recognize myself. Eyes swollen and red. I lean closer trying to look deeper in my eyes, "the windows to my soul" as my mom used to say. I could only see a dark hole—no soul. No life. I stumble into my parent's room, just remembering how to solve everything. I took it from the drawers and ran back into my room, slouching against the wall. Sobbing and heaving, I run my fingers through its cold body. I unlocked the safety lock, and stuck the life-stealer into my mouth, where it tasted awful when it accidentally touched my tongue. My lips curved as I realized what I was doing. It'll all be over. The pain. Guilt. Sadness.

_NO! _Involuntarily, I rip the gun from my mouth and throw it across the room, shattering the silent, lonely sound; almost like an explosion of glass. I look down at my hands—the enemy, the traitor. Why couldn't I do it? The metal aftertaste burns in my mouth. This isn't what Jake would have wanted. If anything, Jake loved every second of life and lived it to the fullest, even if it would cause him trouble. He taught me that death wasn't the end. He went to school with a smile on his face. He let me know that the people I love will never, truly leave me. There are things that not even death can control. And life goes on.

I creep downstairs and see my dad on the coach, gazing at the television. My dad looks up when I reach the bottom of the stairs, and for the first time in my life, I admit my faults and say, "I'm sorry."

He sits there for a moment, digesting what I had said, and soon, my dad pats on the seat beside him. I join him. While watching television, I laugh with my dad in what seemed like forever and discover that I was going to be okay…I was going to survive.


End file.
